


A Perfectly Imperfect Christmas

by eringiles



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-14 17:56:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28924707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eringiles/pseuds/eringiles
Summary: Patrick is looking forward to starting Christmas this year. The store has been busy, and his parents are driving down to join he and David for a few days. David's family are also flying in to join in the festive celebrations. He's looking forward to cooking Christmas dinner with his husband, and starting new family traditions in their first year of marriage. The problem is, for Patrick, Christmas starts with a cough.
Relationships: Clint Brewer/Marcy Brewer, Johnny Rose/Moira Rose, Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 17
Kudos: 92





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm aware that I'm a month late for Christmas fic, but I started this back on Christmas week and then abandoned it for another fic. Hope it's not too late for people to enjoy this.

It starts with a cough. Patrick just thinks he’s inhaled too much dust in the back of the stockroom at first, but it keeps coming back, turning into a tickle at the back of his throat, so that by the following morning he’s convinced himself he’s got the start of a head cold.

He’s not surprised, really. David and he have been running around like blue arsed flies for weeks in the run up to Christmas. Whether it’s fetching new stock for the store, decorating the store, taking part in Christmas shows, making sure their home is prepared to receive both of their parents and David’s sister for a few days over Christmas as well as Christmas present shopping, Patrick can’t remember the last time they had two minutes to themselves.

David keeps Lysol-ing everything both at work and home, so that by day three Patrick feels like a plague victim. His throat hurts and his head aches as he pours over that week’s numbers, perched at the counter as Christmas shoppers mill around the store. David’s disappeared out to pick up one of the last lots of stock from suppliers before Christmas, and Patrick’s desperately looking forward to three days off in a row, even if he does have to entertain both his and David’s family. But Christmas is still a week away.

They’ve decided that the week before Christmas they’re going to have later opening hours to catch the post-work rush of people, but Patrick’s not sure he’s got enough energy to make it to lunch time, let alone 7pm that evening. He coughs into the crook of his elbow, turning away from the counter. When he turns back there’s a takeaway cup and a bag from the pharmacy that wasn’t there before and the concerned face of his husband is staring back at him.

‘Well that sounds worse than this morning,’ David comments, a hand shooting out, cold from being outside, to feel Patrick’s forehead. Patrick’s body betrays him as he closes his eyes, leaning into David’s touch. ‘You know you could go home, take the rest of the day off.’

‘It’s just a cold,’ he mumbles, wrapping his hands around the takeaway cup David has left for him. David scrutinises him for a moment before nodding to the cup and bag.

‘Tea, for your throat and drugs for your disgustingness. I’m going to go unload the car.’

‘Do you need a hand?’

‘Um, normally, yes, but I don’t really want to have to carry you back into the store too,’ David throws over his shoulder as the bell above the shop door tinkles. There’s a rush of cold wind that causes Patrick to shiver before he’s distracted by the woman who appears to have bought one of everything from their bath salts selection.

It’s two days later when David finally manages to manipulate Patrick into a strategic surrender. Although, if David’s honest with himself, it’s a hollow victory.

He turns off the alarm clock without Patrick stirring before extracting himself from the covers to go and shower. He’s spent most of the night being woken up by Patrick coughing harshly into his mountain of pillows and wheezily snoring next to him. It’s been that way for the last three nights now, but David hasn’t commented on the fact Patrick gets more and more upright as the nights go on. He has been very vocal about the amount of coughing that Patrick’s been doing though, but it hasn’t seemed to make any impact on Patrick taking a day off from the store to recover.

David yawns several times while he’s making coffee on the stove, the distant sound of Patrick coughing floating down to him. He leans against the kitchen counter, coffee in one hand and phone in the other when it hits eight in the morning, punching redial until he gets through to a tired sounding receptionist.

When he’s finished on the phone he heads back upstairs to find Patrick has toppled off his mound of pillows and is coughing harshly, trying to catch his breath while he clutches at his ribs. David frowns and sits on the edge of the bed next to his hip, rubbing his back and waiting until he manages to take a couple of breaths without coughing before speaking.

‘Honey, I got you an emergency appointment at the Doctor’s for 10.15, so we need to get you in some clothes.’

‘Okay,’ Patrick rasps before coughing a couple more times. It worries David that Patrick doesn’t put up a fight. He finally stopped arguing that it was just a cold the previous evening when David insisted they both go to bed early as they had a busy week ahead of them, under the pretence of getting Patrick to rest. Patrick had fallen asleep almost immediately while David stayed up to do some Doctor Googling.

David fetches some clothes for Patrick before he finishes getting himself ready. When he comes back to the bedside, Patrick has managed to get dressed but is just sat there looking extremely sorry for himself, leaning against his mound of pillows and coughing painfully into the fisted sleeve of his hoodie.

‘I really don’t feel great,’ Patrick admits, and David doesn’t know whether to take that as a win or an impending sign of the apocalypse.

‘I hate to break it to you, honey, but you don’t look great either. Hence the reason we’re going to take you to the doctor.’

‘It’s probably just flu,’ Patrick mumbles.

‘It was a head cold yesterday. I don’t remember you getting a medical degree recently, so I think we’re still going to go and ask a professional.’

‘What about the store?’

‘We’re going to stop by the store long enough for me to put up a sign that says we’ll be opening later today.’

Patrick’s brow furrows in concern. ‘But, it’s Christmas week.’

David sighs and cups Patrick’s too hot face between his hands. ‘Patrick, honey, you are not well. Taking you to the Doctor is more important than a couple of hours of lost revenue, okay?’

Patrick just nods, struggling to keep his eyes open as David tries to coax him to his feet. David bundles him up in a hat, scarf, jacket and boots before letting him anywhere near the front door. Patrick immediately feels too warm and removes his hat the minute they’re safely ensconced in the car, but cocoons his hands in the sleeves of his coat, trying not to nod off on the car ride to the store.

David pulls in behind Ronnie’s truck around the corner from the store. He leaves Patrick huddled in the front seat and exits the car quickly.

‘Morning,’ Ronnie greets him as she exits the cab of her truck, zipping her jacket up higher.

‘Morning, Ronnie.’ David returns the greeting as he shoves his hands into his pockets to try and keep them warm. He tramps past The Moria’s Rose’s Garden that looks sad in winter and realises belatedly that Ronnie is following him.

‘He okay?’

David frowns, glancing back to where Ronnie is pointing at Patrick’s car and the hunched form of his husband in the front seat. David half expected to see some other poor unfortunate soul, because for Ronnie to show concern about Patrick was almost unheard of.

‘He was coughing up a storm in the café the other day. Hard not to notice.’

‘Um, he thinks he has a head cold, whereas I’m fairly certain he has pneumonia. I’m going to take him to the Doctors in Elmdale this morning. Sorry if you were wanting something from the store, but I’m just here to put up a sign to say we’ll be opening later.’

‘I’ll drive him if you like.’

David takes a moment to process Ronnie’s offer, keys in the front door, ‘Um, are you sure?’

‘Need to go over to Elmdale anyway to pick up a couple of things for a job before Christmas. I can drop him off on my way and then drop him back at your place after.’

‘That’s um, really kind of you, Ronnie.’

Ronnie waves a hand, ‘No bother.’

David’s torn about letting Ronnie take his husband to the doctor’s, considering their potted history, but it does mean he doesn’t have to make a sign for the store, or phone Heather to change delivery of the last Christmas shipment or lose out on the morning’s sales. He’s also still got yesterday’s online sales to process, which really need to go out today if they’re to make the last post before Christmas.

David ventures back to the car and knocks on the passenger window to rouse Patrick who’s slumped against it, before opening the car door.

‘Ronnie’s going to drive you to Elmdale.’

Patrick looks confused, even as he manages to pull his uncooperative limbs from the car.

‘Ronnie?’

‘Yeah, she’s heading to Elmdale, said she’d drive you to the doctors. If you’re okay with that?’

Patrick looks dubious, but eventually nods his assent, letting David lead him over to Ronnie’s truck.

They’ve barely been in the truck for five minutes, only just passing the billboard out of town when Patrick gets caught in a coughing fit that rattles deeply in his lungs.

‘Jesus, Brewer,’ Ronnie comments when Patrick eventually stops coughing, struggling to draw a large enough breath that won’t send him into another coughing fit.

‘Sorry,’ he mumbles into his scarf, hunkering down and trying to stay quiet for the rest of the journey. Ronnie isn’t much of a conversationalist with him, so they sit in somewhat companionable silence on the drive to Elmdale, only speaking again when Ronnie pulls up outside the Doctors’ office.

‘I’ll be about half an hour. I’ll pick you back up out front, alright?’

Patrick nods as he climbs out the cab. ‘Thanks, Ronnie.’

‘Uh huh.’ Is her response as he slams the door shut and she drives away.

The doctors’ office is full with other people looking just as miserable as Patrick feels, so he sits quietly in the corner until his name is called.

He describes his symptoms, lets the doctor take his temperature, takes his oxygen saturation, listens to his chest, asks him to take a deeper breath, which just causes him to descend into a coughing fit. He’s asked if he’s got any allergies and then he’s hustled out the door with a scrip for antibiotics he has to trudge across the road to the Pharmasave to fill.

Once he’s done, he crosses back over to the Doctors, lingering by the front door, trying not to slump back into one of the seats there, watching for Ronnie coming back. There’s a brief moment where he’s worried that Ronnie won’t come back for him and he’ll have to try and find his own way home. He’s not even sure he’s got his wallet on him. He’s considering calling David for a lift when he sees Ronnie’s truck pull up outside and he pushes out the door into the bitter cold before she’s even cut the engine.

Ronnie’s eyes drift to the pharmacy bag that Patrick has dumped on the dashboard while he straps himself in with the seatbelt.

‘You’ll live then?’ Ronnie asks, and Patrick’s thrown slightly by the fact Ronnie almost seems concerned – almost.

‘Bronchitis. Possibly pneumonia.’

Ronnie doesn’t respond, just nods in a knowing way as she pulls away from the curb and starts heading back towards Schitts Creek.

‘You let that husband of yours know?’

Patrick shakes his head, and seeing the prompt for what it is pulls out his phone. David answers on the second ring.

‘Hey, how’d you get on at the doctors?’

‘They think I’ve got bronchitis with a lung infection. My lungs apparently sound like a rice krispies commercial.’

Ronnie snorts in the seat next to him, and Patrick turns to look at her. She holds up a hand in apology, but keeps her eyes on the road.

‘Mm-hmm, so, just a head cold, huh?’

Patrick ignores David’s jibe. ‘I’ve got some antibiotics. I’m supposed to rest. Are you going to be okay at the store today on your own?’

‘Patrick Brewer, I swear if you come into the store I will not be held responsible for my actions!’

‘I’ll take that as a yes.’

‘I’ll be fine. Get some sleep, and I’ll see you this evening. Let me know when you get home. Love you.’

‘Love you too,’ Patrick utters before hanging up, turning to look at Ronnie. ‘Ronnie, are you okay to drop me home if it’s not too much trouble?’

‘Where else would I drop you? Work? Have you seen yourself?’

Patrick shrugs in response, because he hasn’t seen himself recently. But if he looks half as bad as a currently feels, then it’s not going to be particularly attractive. He takes a moment, debating whether to pull down the sun visor and look at himself in the little mirror there, but Ronnie is still giving him sidelong glances.

‘Thank you for driving me,’ Patrick says after a moment.

‘Doing it for David,’ Ronnie mutters in return. ‘Not sure he’d be too happy with his husband keeling over.’

‘Still, thank you.’ Patrick tries a second time, crossing his arms as he tries to hide a shiver that ripples through him making him ache more than he already does. Ronnie doesn’t say anything, but she reaches over to turn the heating up in the truck.

Patrick must have dozed off, because the next thing he’s remotely aware of is Ronnie calling his name as he blinks owlishly through the window of her trunk at his house. He thanks her again and thinks he mishears her response of ‘Take Care,’ as he’s leaving the warm cab of her truck.

He divests himself of his outer layers, dumping keys and prescription on the hall table before pulling himself upstairs with the intention of changing back into pyjamas. By the time he’s reached the top of the stairs he feels breathless and slightly dizzy.

Patrick stares down at the bed for a moment before sitting on the edge of it. He doesn’t want to go back to bed. He’s spent the majority of yesterday evening confined to it, and trying to sleep sitting upright is a fine balancing act which ultimately ends up with him having a crick in his neck and a painful coughing fit when he inevitably falls off his pillow pile. He thinks he might have better luck sleeping if he props himself up on the couch in the living room.

Now that he’s sat down, it seems like a colossal effort to drag himself back downstairs again to the couch though. He manages to shimmy out of his jeans, throwing them in the direction of the armchair in the room before he pulls his pyjama bottoms back on. He doesn’t bother changing his top half, wrestling his way back under the bedcovers, telling himself he’ll just lie here for a bit before relocating to the sofa.

As he’s falling asleep he thinks he should maybe let David know he’s home safe.

He wakes himself up coughing to a text from David. _Are you home?_

He manages to text back the briefest of replies, minus any punctuation. _Yes_

Patrick pockets his phone and pulls himself out of bed in search of the prescription of antibiotics he brought home from the doctor and a glass of water, a cacophony of coughing accompanying him all the way down the stairs. His phone pings in his pocket again as he’s filling a glass up with water from the tap, staring bleary eyed out of the kitchen window.

_Are you mad?_

Patrick frowns down at his phone. _Why would I be mad?_

_Idk the “yes” sounded angry._

Patrick blinks a couple of times, trying to figure out where David’s head is at, but he’s barely got a handle on his own head that currently feels like it’s stuffed full of cotton wool. A second text comes through: _How are you feeling?_

_Sick. Going back to bed. Everything okay at the store?_

_There was a brief moment where I couldn’t get the printer working – we’ve reached an understanding now. Get some sleep. Love you. Xx_

Patrick doesn’t want to know what kind of fight David has gotten into with the printer. He refills his glass of water and grabs his antibiotics before attempting to follow David’s instructions.

It would have been vaguely adorable the position David found his husband in when he returned home, had Patrick not been so sick. He was lying in the middle of their bed on his side, propped up on a couple of pillows, hugging David’s own pillow to him like it was a substitute for the real thing. David rids himself of his shoes and crawls onto the bed next to Patrick, pressing a kiss to his too warm forehead.

‘Hi.’ Patrick’s voice is raspy, and he gives no other indication that he’s alive apart from his one-word feeble attempt.

‘Hi yourself,’ David responds, a hand coming up to comb through Patrick’s hair. ‘How’re you feeling?’

‘Really awful.’

‘Um, not surprised. Ronnie said you might have pneumonia.’

There’s a long pause, before Patrick lets out a breathy, ‘Oh.’

David swallows, biting his lip before speaking again. ‘Why didn’t you say the doctor thought it was pneumonia?’

‘I didn’t want you to worry.’ As if Patrick’s lungs had been waiting on their cue, he starts coughing again, turning his face into the pillow. David lets him cough, lending strength where he can by rubbing his back soothingly. David waits for him to regain control of his breathing, hearing the tell-tale wheeze that seems to accompany it now.

‘Patrick, you look and sound like a feather duster would floor you right now, I’m already worried.’

‘Sorry.’

‘Don’t be sorry, just tell me how I can help so we can get you better.’

‘I just want to sleep,’ Patrick says softly. ‘I’m so tired.’ His voice breaks and David’s heart with it. He pulls Patrick closer to him, enveloping him in a hug and rubbing his back, even though Patrick tries to pull away when he starts coughing again.

Patrick replaces David’s pillow with David eventually, both of them propped up in bed, David quietly reading, a hand slowly running up and down Patrick’s back while he snores between wheezing breaths. David’s phone pings with a message from his sister.

_Is your button still okay to pick me up tomorrow? He’s not responding to my txts._

David takes a deep breath and looks up at the ceiling for a minute. He’d forgotten Patrick had offered to pick Alexis up from the airport tomorrow morning as he’d been heading out that way to fetch their turkey from the farm for Christmas dinner. David thought for a moment, trying to come up with a plan that meant Patrick could stay in bed, the store could stay open and both his sister and the turkey would make it to the house in one piece.

He messaged Stevie. _I need a favour._

David considered how much he would owe Stevie. He wasn’t sure her customary box of 12 bottles of wine would cut it.

_You need me to pick up your sister and the turkey because Patrick might be dying?_

Sometimes he both hated and loved that this town was so small.

_He’s not dying. I don’t think._

_So, you don’t need me to pick up the turkey and your sister?_

_No. I need you to do those things. Please._

_Please? How ill is he?_

David is interrupted by Patrick shifting, which starts him coughing and the next half hour was taken up with making tea and toast and coaxing an exhausted Patrick into eating enough that he can take drugs.

‘I know this is something you probably don’t want to think about right now, but should we maybe cancel Christmas?’ David asks as he's kneading at the muscles of Patrick’s right arm.

‘Wouldn’t we have to get the Pope involved with that?’ Patrick asks so flippantly that for a moment it's almost like Patrick isn’t so sick.

‘No, I mean, we should call our parents, say that you’re not well and we can’t host them.’

‘I love you for suggesting it, but I’ll be fine in a few days, and we’ve both been looking forward to Christmas this year. _You’ve_ been looking forward to Christmas this year.’ Patrick squeezes David a bit tighter. ‘We’re not cancelling Christmas.’

David wants to argue, wants to tell Patrick that he doesn’t mind postponing things until Patrick feels even slightly more human, but he's struggling to keep his emotions in check as Patrick goes back to trying to fall asleep on him.

When David looks at his phone again there are a further two messages. One from Stevie which reads:

_I’ll come get your keys from you at the store at 9._

And one from his sister that reads:

_Stevie’s going to pick me up. Tell Patrick I hope he feels better soon._


	2. Chapter 2

‘David gave me his keys,’ Stevie says as she tries to shift the hefty turkey to one arm and fish the keys to the cottage out of her pocket. Alexis meanwhile is dragging her too large for a few days suitcase up onto the porch, seemingly annoyed that neither David nor Patrick are there to help.

Stevie struggles into the kitchen with the turkey and opens the fridge. Thankfully she doesn’t have to play a particularly difficult game of fridge Tetris to get the turkey ensconced, considering there isn’t a huge amount in the fridge. When she comes back through to the hall, Patrick is standing at the bottom of the stairs being enveloped in a hug by Alexis, which by the looks of him, appears to be the only thing keeping him upright. He’s wearing his pyjamas and a thick towelling dressing gown that’s open at the front as well as hiking socks. It's a look that screams _incorrect_ in Stevie’s head, in her best friend’s voice.

‘Wow. Don’t you look amazing.’

Patrick pulls back from Alexis, opening his mouth to retort, but all that comes out is a hacking cough that has him bent double, hanging onto the banister.

‘And you sound so good.’

‘I didn’t realise it was Tuesday already,’ Patrick says when he’s done coughing, both Stevie and Alexis throwing him concerned looks as he sits down on the stairs. Stevie can see that he has a sheen of sweat on his top lip, and he looks grey in pallor as he slumps against the banister, trying to catch his breath, like the trip down the stairs had been far too much of a strain.

‘Patrick, are you okay? When I ran into Ronnie she said you were sick, but-’

Patrick had opened his mouth to say something, but instead of words, he starts coughing again, clutching at his ribs. When he’s done, his head is resting on his knees and he groans before he makes any attempt to pull himself back up into a sitting position.

‘I can’t believe David left you like this.’ Alexis tuts as she pats him on the head like he’s a sick puppy in need of comfort.

‘I’m fine. It’s just bronchitis and a lung infection.’

‘I don’t think you realise how much those two statements don’t go together,’ Stevie says.

‘I’m sorry, Alexis, I don’t think David’s had time to make up the beds. I’ll grab you some linens and-‘ He’s pulling himself to his feet, using the banister for support, but Alexis interrupts by waving a hand at Patrick before she’s corralling him towards the sofa.

‘It’s fine. You sit down and Stevie and I will take care of it.’

‘Um, Stevie has to go back to work.’

‘Oh, well, then, I will do this on my own.’ Alexis bops Patrick on the nose.

‘Are you sure you’re okay?’ Stevie asks as Alexis disappears to start dragging her suitcase up the stairs.

‘I’ll be fine, honestly, I just need to sleep it off.’ Patrick hugs a cushion to his chest as he seems to burrow into the couch. Stevie’s unsure whether she should leave Patrick, opting for making him a cup of tea before leaving him in what she hopes is the capable hands of Alexis.

Alexis spends a fraught hour raiding the hall cupboard and trying to make up the spare bedrooms in the house. She can hear her brother-in-law coughing downstairs and she has to resist the urge to check he’s still breathing every time there’s a lull between coughing fits.

When Alexis comes back downstairs, Patrick’s asleep on the sofa, propped up against the arm with a few of the throw cushions and curled into the back of the sofa. She takes the afghan from the back of the armchair and drapes it over Patrick, tucking him in.

She disappears back through to the kitchen, hoping to be able to find something in the fridge that she can have for lunch, and maybe some soup for Patrick, but she doesn’t think David would appreciate if she used the turkey.

Alexis spends a long time stood in the doorway of the living room, watching her brother-in-law sleeping on the sofa, so much so that it starts to tilt towards creepy. She’s trying to decide whether it’s safe to leave Patrick on his own, but eventually concludes that if David has done it, he will be fine. She nods to herself before wrapping up warmly and leaving the little cottage that her brother has made his home.

It takes David a moment to notice Alexis is in the store because it’s so busy with Christmas shoppers and he has a small queue at the till which he’s clearing. Alexis takes that time to gaze round at the familiar four walls of her brother’s business. She feels a frisson of pride surge through her that Rose Apothecary is thriving as she takes a turn around the store to see that there are new products, as well as labels where product is missing that say ‘Out of Stock – join our mailing list to hear when we’re back’.

Alexis starts when a girl in her late teens whom Alexis has never met before appears at her elbow. ‘Hi there, can I help you with anything?’

Alexis stands stunned for a moment, not realising that Patrick and David have hired someone to help them run the store, or whether it’s just someone David has got into help while Patrick is out sick.

‘Oh, no, I’m just, I’m just waiting to speak to David,’ Alexis says, glancing back at her brother who’s still deep in conversation with someone about skincare products.

‘Are you a vendor?’ the girl asks, clearly keen to help in any way she can. ‘I can get Mr. Rose for you, if you like?’

Alexis tries really hard not to laugh at someone calling David, Mr. Rose. She barely manages to contain a smile. ‘Oh, no, he’s busy. I will-‘

‘Abby?’ David’s voice rings out from over the other side of the store, and Alexis looks up only to lock eyes with her brother. He has a barely contained smile on his face as he spots her, but he also looks tired. ‘Can you man the till, and I’ll deal with this difficult customer?’

‘Um, sure. I was just trying to be helpful.’ Abby glances between the two of them as she makes her way back over the other side of the store nervously to serve the last customer who seems to be adding several lip balms to her goods while she waits to be served.

‘Um, rude, David.’

When David reaches Alexis, there’s a pause before they hug each other tightly, realising how long-ago summer feels when Patrick and David had come for a long weekend in New York to visit her. David had eaten his own bodyweight in pizza, while Patrick had insisted they see _everything_ , despite both Alexis and David’s assurances that he would get to visit New York again.

‘You didn’t say how sick Patrick was,’ she says, as she pulls back, hitting him on the arm.

‘Um, ow.’ David looks mildly offended. ‘And I didn’t say, because I knew you wouldn’t come.’

‘David, I’m not Mom.’

‘Um, yeah, maybe don’t tell her Patrick is sick. Or maybe do, I’m undecided about whether I want them to come or not.’

‘Have you taken him to a doctor at least?’

‘Of course I have, what do you think I am, some kind of monster!?’ David’s trying to keep his voice low, but the woman at the end of the centre table is pretending to read the label on the back of some foot cream, when really she’s listening intently to David and Alexis’ conversation.

‘I just don’t think you should have left him on his own. When Stevie and I got there he was all sick and sad.’

‘What did you want me to do? Bring him to the store?’ David looks beyond his sister, concern crossing his face. ‘Oh God, you haven’t dragged him out of his bed have you?’

‘No! I left him asleep on the sofa all tucked in.’ Alexis punctuates the last few words with a emphatic hand movement, wiggling her nose, implying how cute the image was. However, at no point does she seem to acknowledge the irony that she's telling her brother off for doing the exact same thing she's now done.

‘So anyway, I’ve just been to the café to see Twy, and I got him some soup, because your fridge is very sad and empty. I also brought you lunch, because I thought you would be here on your own all miserable and hungry, but you apparently have staff now. When did that happen?’ Alexis hits him on the arm again, and David’s brain takes a moment to track the change in conversation, looking round the store in search of the staff member he’s supposedly hired. His eyes fall on Abby ringing up a customer at the till with all the enthusiasm of a teenager who is yet to be confronted with the drudgery of day to day working life.

‘Oh, Abby. She’s Patrick’s work experience kid. She’s just here for the week. Jocelyn’s been farming them out to various places and Patrick, always a sucker for little orphan Annie’s, said yes. He’s been showing her how to balance the books and run a business. She wants to, I don’t know, be a business major or something.’ David throws a hand out in apathy about Abby’s wants before he leans in conspiratorially. ‘She also has a crush on Patrick, and he is oblivious. It is both hilarious and adorable.’

‘Aw, cute, David.’ Alexis wrinkles her nose again and flicks her hair over her shoulder, looking back at Abby behind the till, but David’s brain is rewinding the conversation slightly.

‘So you said you bought me lunch?’

* * *

Patrick’s woken by his phone ringing from his dressing gown pocket. He fumbles through the folds of blankets and dressing gown to reach it, croaking out a feeble ‘Hello?’ when he answers it.

‘Patrick?’

Patrick tries to clear his throat before speaking again. ‘Hi, Mom.’

‘Are you okay, sweetheart? You sound terrible.’

Patrick searches for a drink to help relieve his dry throat and realises there’s a post-it note stuck to a mug of tea on the coffee table.

_Gone to fetch soup and annoy David. Call if you need anything. Alexis xx_

‘Patrick?’

‘I’m alright.’ He pauses to take a sip of the tea that’s tepid, grateful when the next words out his mouth don’t sound quite so strained. ‘I’ve just caught something that’s going around. I’ll be fine.’

Patrick didn’t know why he was lying to his mother. She would be able to see for herself soon enough that he wasn’t fine, despite his protestations.

‘I was just phoning to see if there was anything else you wanted us to bring with us tomorrow?’

‘Just yourselves.’

‘Oh, well, I’ll tell your dad to unpack the presents he’s just put in a bag then, shall I?’ Marcy teases.

‘Mom, I already told you, you don’t have to get us presents.’

‘It would be rude not to bring anything when you’re hosting us. Also, I’ve bought something for Stevie as well, since David mentioned the other day that she would be joining us on Christmas day. Just a little thing.’

Patrick rolls his eyes, sighing deeply at his mother’s need to share the wealth equally. The sigh causes his chest to spasm and he has to pull the phone away from him sharply lest he deafen his mother, trying to muffle his coughs in the shoulder of his dressing gown. When he gets the phone back to his ear, his mother is making sympathetic noises.

‘Patrick, dear, you sound awful.’

‘Honestly, it sounds worse than it is.’ Which is a lie, and Patrick feels guilty the minute it leaves his mouth. Marcy, in response, makes a humming noise, which Patrick knows means _I don’t believe you, but I’m not having this argument now_.

‘Well, we should be there about three tomorrow, if that’s still okay?’

‘It’s fine, Mom. I’ll be here.’

‘Right, well, I need to go. Your father and I are going round next door to the Bakewell’s Christmas do this evening. You take care of yourself, and we’ll see you tomorrow.’

She rings off and Patrick lets his head flop sideways into the sofa, exhausted from the brief conversation with his mother. After a moment he glances down at his phone to see that there’s a text from David asking how he is, one from Stevie threatening what’ll happen to him if he dies, and one from Alexis which just says _Chicken or Tomato?_

He’s just about to respond to Alexis when the front door opens, bringing a rush of cold air with it that sparks another coughing fit. By the time he’s recovered, Alexis has made appearance in the living room, clutching a bag of food and looking nervous.

‘Hey, um, I brought you some soup from the café. I just guessed at chicken, because it’s what I like when I don’t feel great.’ Alexis sets the pot down on the table with a spoon she’s clearly rescued from the kitchen.

‘Thanks, Alexis.’

Alexis perches on the armchair in the room, unsure what to do as she watches Patrick moving at the speed of a sloth, shifting his feet onto the floor and struggling to tug the afghan from him.

‘Twy says she hopes you feel better soon,’ Alexis says, as she moves to help him, placing the afghan round his shoulders before sitting back down again.

‘That was nice of her.’ Everything he says is absent, like thinking and words are beyond him at the moment. He manages to take the lid off his soup before he descends into a coughing fit that leaves him gasping and groaning, clutching at his ribs, causing Alexis to frown in sympathy.

‘Be right back,’ she says getting to her feet and disappearing upstairs to look in the airing cupboard. When she comes back into the living room, Patrick is carefully eating soup at a painfully lethargic pace. She stands awkwardly beside him for a minute, chewing on her hair, before she comes to the decision that he’s basically her brother at this point, and bends down to tuck the hot water bottle she’s made up inside his dressing gown, against his ribs. The sigh of pleasure and relief she gets in answer is reward enough.

‘Um, do you need anything else?’

He shakes his head. ‘Just some company. Tell me about New York.’

Alexis smiles and sits back down in the armchair, flicking her hair out of the way before she launches into a story about Anderson Cooper’s renovated firehouse which she hasn’t been able to tell David about for obvious reasons.

* * *

David struggles in the door of the cottage with a large pizza box that he’s already eaten a slice out of on the way home in the car. He can hear the low hum of the television coming from the living room, and someone has been round the house to shut all the curtains to keep the December chill out, for which he’s grateful.

‘Hi,’ he greets, dropping the pizza box on the coffee table, somewhat surprised to find both Alexis and Patrick in the living room. Alexis smiles up at him, pressing a finger to her lips before looking down pointedly at Patrick who is slumped sideways on the couch, propped up with several pillows on the arm, his legs in Alexis’ lap and both of them covered in a blanket. David’s exhausted features take on a fond quality as he bends down to press a kiss to Patrick’s warm and sweaty forehead.

‘Well you two look like you’ve had a fun day.’

Alexis smiles. ‘It’s been nice.’

‘What are we watching?’ David picks up the pizza box, handing Alexis a napkin so she can help herself.

‘The Holiday.’

‘Um, okay, I’m pretty sure the rules are that the sick person gets pick of films, even if they are unconscious.’

‘He did.’

David has a moment to panic about how sick Patrick must be that he’s picking some of David’s favourite films, before Alexis explains that they’ve already watched two Indiana Jones films prior to this. ‘He said he wanted to watch this then, because he was missing you. Isn't that the sweetest?’

David’s heart fills up at that comment, but he catches sight of Alexis’ smile and realises she’s winding him up. If his husband wasn’t currently using his sister as a footstool he would be throwing something at her. Instead he settles for surreptitiously moving the pizza box just out of her reach as he grabs himself another slice.


	3. Chapter 3

‘David?’

David feels Patrick’s hand on his shoulder, realising it’s the second time he’s heard the alarm clock that morning. No doubt Patrick had snoozed it the first time, letting David drift in that ten-minute lull before it went off again. ‘Yeah. Yup, I’m getting up.’

‘No, I mean, well yes, but, do you need me to come to the store with you today?’

David’s eyes finally open as he pulls himself up in bed before turning to look incredulously at his husband. A man who has to sleep sitting propped up so that he can breathe properly and had woken David up at four in the morning coughing so hard he had almost made himself sick. A man who David had practically had to carry to bed yesterday evening and force feed him slices of toast, because the effort involved in chewing had seemed too great.

‘What the fuck?’

Patrick blinks back at David in confusion. ‘What?’

‘Okay, I need to know if you’re trying purposely to give me a panic attack, or whether I’ve married someone who has a death wish?’

‘I just- you’ve been working eleven-hour days, David. And I know you’re not sleeping well because of me coughing all night, so I just want to help.’ It would have been sweet and almost convincing, if it hadn’t been punctuated by Patrick coughing painfully into the pillow.

David turns over in bed so he’s facing Patrick, a hand reaching out to cup his clammy cheek. ‘Okay, honey, I love that you’re still trying to look after me on your deathbed, but I very much need you to stay here today and look after yourself, because there is enough going on in my life that worrying more about you than I already am is just too much, okay?’

‘Would we say I’m on my deathbed?’

‘Okay, maybe not quite on your deathbed, but if you leave the bed I may have to kill you myself.’

Patrick frowns, eyes wide and pleading. David almost offers him an ultimatum, but stops himself, knowing that whatever David suggests Patrick will push himself to the point that he’d make himself more unwell. Instead he punts for logic, which is a far cry from David’s normal needling of his stubborn husband, so he feels like he’s grown as a person.

‘Also, you can’t come to the store with me because you need to stay here for when your parents arrive.’

‘They’re not getting here until three.’

‘Well then I guess you’re having a lie in.’

Patrick opens his mouth to protest, but he starts coughing again instead and David’s brow furrows in sympathy, even as he uses the distraction to extract himself from the bed, occupying the bathroom so Patrick can’t continue to argue.

When David comes back into the bedroom after his shower to get dressed, Patrick’s already fallen asleep again. He’s twisted the duvet round and bunched David’s half up so he’s cuddling it to his chest. He’s managed to hook a leg out from under the covers, but David can see he’s already shivering slightly, despite the fact there are beads of sweat gathering at the base of Patrick’s spine where his t-shirt has ridden up, exposing the small of his back. David sighs dotingly, crossing to the bed and managing to tug the duvet over Patrick’s top half more so he’s at least partially covered.

It takes a heroic amount of willpower not to move round the other side of the bed and crawl back under the covers next to Patrick for the rest of the day. Instead David trudges downstairs to make himself some breakfast after he’s put together an outfit, realising he needs to do laundry at some point. He almost jumps in surprise to find his sister already in the kitchen, pouring herself a mug of coffee. When she spots her brother, she pulls another mug down from the cupboard and fills that one too.

‘Why are you already up?’

‘What do you need me to do today?’

David shakes his head in confusion. ‘Do?’

‘Yes, as in like, help.’

‘With what?’

‘I don’t know, David. God!’ Alexis makes a noise of frustration in the back of her throat and clenches her fists together as she glares at him. He shakes his head in confusion at her for a second time.

‘Patrick’s sick, so I’m trying to be like helpful and stuff.’

‘Um, okay.’

‘So what was Patrick supposed to be doing today that I could like do it for him instead?’

David baulks at the prospect of Alexis taking on tasks that Patrick is supposed to be doing for Christmas.

‘Um, well, Patrick’s parents are arriving at three, so can you be here so that Patrick doesn’t have to get up?’

‘Is that it?’

Davids thinks for a second. ‘Also, if I put on some laundry can you shove it in the dryer when it’s done?’

‘Ew, David. But yes, I guess I can do your dirty laundry.’

‘It won’t be dirty. It will be clean. Also, most of my knits are dry clean only.’ He waves a finger at her in annoyance. ‘Also, I could really use-‘

‘Okay, David. I’m not doing everything.’ Alexis interrupts, flicking her hair over her shoulder in annoyance before taking a sip of her coffee.

* * *

Patrick is somehow in the middle of a fist fight with Hugh Grant on the shop floor of Rose Apothecary when he feels something cool against his forehead. He looks up to see where the chill is coming from, noticing that it’s raining inside, before he starts coughing and finds his mother sat on the edge of his bed, her hand on his forehead.

‘Mom?’ Patrick frowns, before coughing into the duvet as he struggles to pull himself higher up in the bed. ‘When did you get here?’

‘Oh, only half an hour or so ago. Your dad is just unpacking the car. I came to see how are you feeling.’ Her hand drops from his forehead as she frowns. ‘You’re awfully warm.’

‘I’m okay, I’m just tired,’ Patrick says, trying to pull himself further up in bed, while struggling to present a front of being relatively okay. He feels strangely vulnerable sat in his marital bed with his diminutive mother looking at him between furrowed brows.

‘Patrick, honey, why didn’t you tell me you had bronchitis and possibly pneumonia when I phoned yesterday?’ Marcy asks as she places a hand on his arm. He realises that his mother has been alone with Alexis for the last half hour, and she’s no doubt played up how unwell he is. Although if he’s honest, the way he still feels, there probably hasn’t been much embellishing of the facts.

Patrick sighs, looking down at his hands as he plays with his wedding band. ‘I didn’t want you to worry, or think you couldn’t come for Christmas.’

‘Oh, Patrick, sweetheart.’ She presses a hand to his cheek. ‘You’re my boy, I will always worry about you. And we wouldn’t have missed Christmas for anything.’ His mom grabs at his hands to still their nervous fidgeting and squeezes. Patrick nods bashfully, looking down at their hands before he raises his eyes to meet his mother’s.

‘Do you guys need anything?’

‘We’re fine looking after ourselves. Alexis let us in and has shown us where everything is. You just worry about looking after yourself. Do you need anything?’

Patrick seems to consider this for a moment. ‘Some tea would be good.’

‘Coming right up.’

‘I’ll come down with you.’

Marcy pats his hands. ‘I can bring it up.’

‘I know. I just want to come and chat to you both for a bit. Say hi to Dad.’

‘That would be nice.’ Marcy smiles as she stands back up and turns to rescue his dressing gown from the chair in the room.

* * *

When David gets home from the store that evening, he’s secretly grateful that his in-laws arrived before his own parents. He hasn’t worried any less about Patrick during the day, but he’s at least known that Marcy and Clint are there looking after him. Although he’ll grudgingly admit that his sister did a pretty good job yesterday – not that he would ever disclose that opinion.

He’s relieved to step through his front door to the calm of the Brewers rather than the whirlwind of the Roses – not that he doesn’t love his family, he just needs another day to prepare himself for that onslaught. His sister had come by the store earlier on in the day to tell him that Marcy and Clint had arrived, and she was going to go out with Twyla that evening to catch up. She’d also reported that Patrick had been sat in the kitchen with Marcy and Clint when she left, drinking tea.

He’s barely got his coat off before his mother-in-law has appeared in the hallway and is enveloping him in a hug.

‘David, sweetheart, so lovely to see you.’ Marcy pulls back, touching him on the shoulder and scrutinising him. She doesn’t comment on how tired he must look, and for that David is appreciative. ‘You must have had a long day at work. I hope you don’t mind, but Clint and I brought dinner with us for this evening. It’s just a casserole I made yesterday, but I thought it would give you boys a break from entertaining.’

‘That’s really kind of you, Mrs. Brewer.’

‘Not at all, dear.’

Clint appears in the hallway then, holding out a hand for David to shake and then pulling him in for a one-armed hug, that David thinks will feel awkward, but is just reassuring.

‘David, how are you?’

He wants to be honest with the Brewers about how he’s feeling and any number of adjectives go running through his head at the moment in time. Exhausted. Worried. Stressed. Anxious. Distracted. Instead he settles for a tentative nod and smile that doesn’t quite reach his tired eyes.

Marcy touches David on the arm to get his attention. ‘Patrick went for a lie down a couple of hours ago. I haven’t checked on him, but he said he wanted to join us for dinner when you came home.’

‘How’s he been?’ David asks, glancing up the stairs. He wants to go and see for himself how Patrick is, but he doesn’t want to appear rude, so he follows Marcy back into the kitchen, his stomach making appreciative noises at the smell emanating from the oven. It appears that Marcy has kept herself busy during the afternoon by making cookies.

‘I tried to stop her,’ Clint says conspiratorially in David’s ear, and David finds himself smiling as he crosses to the sink to wash the day off of his hands.

‘I imagine not too different from how you left him this morning.’ Marcy’s peering in at the oven in contemplation, before she decides that the cookies are done and reaches for the novelty oven gloves that Stevie had bought them that look like bear paws.

‘He tried to come to the store with me this morning.’ David dries his hands on a tea towel, leaning against the sink.

‘Course he did, stupid boy.’ Marcy lets the tray of cookies clatter down on the worksurface.

It’s the first time David has heard Patrick’s parents say a bad word against him, but since he currently agrees with Marcy’s point of view, he doesn’t comment.

‘He gets that from you, you know?’ Marcy’s annoyance seems to have turned itself on Clint who’s looking mildly confused as to what he’s done wrong. David’s eyeing up the cookies, his stomach grumbling at not having eaten anything in the last seven hours. David crosses his arms over his stomach in embarrassment as it continues to gurgle, but Marcy laughs, patting him on the arm.

‘Why don’t you go and wake Patrick and I’ll put the casserole on to warm through? Shouldn’t be more than fifteen minutes.’

David smiles appreciatively and excuses himself upstairs. He finds Patrick curled around a hot water bottle, a half-finished mug of cold tea on the bedside table next to a packet of paracetamol, an empty glass and his antibiotics. Patrick’s laptop is open on top of the covers, and David closes it, putting it to one side and hoping that Patrick was watching something and not attempting to do invoices or pay bills or balance spreadsheets. David doesn’t want to check, worried that what he would find, would only make him angry with his severely compromised husband.

David sits down on the side of the bed by Patrick’s hip, just watching him for a moment. For the umpteenth time that day he asks himself whether he’s done the right thing by letting their families invade while Patrick is so unwell. David’s vision of the perfect Christmas is slowly changing to the vision of he and Patrick hibernating under the covers for several days, as he tries to block out the fact that he will now have to endure a large portion of Christmas without his husband.

‘Being creepy now, David.’

David startles, not realising that Patrick is awake. He twists further round on the bed so he has to bring a leg up and fold it underneath him. He presses a hand to Patrick’s shoulder and gives it a squeeze. ‘Your Mom said you wanted to join us for dinner.’

Patrick doesn’t open his eyes, but lets out a sigh as David starts to knead Patrick’s shoulder. ‘That’d be nice.’

David waits for Patrick to make some sort of move, but he doesn’t. David bites his lip in concern. ‘You don’t have to. I can bring you up something.’

Patrick lets out a slow breath, and finally opens his eyes to look at David. ‘I’m so tired, but I need to not be in bed anymore. Even just for a bit.’

It breaks David’s heart to see his husband feeling and looking so awful, but he realises that as much as he wants to hibernate through Christmas with his husband, they also both need this. It doesn’t stop him asking the question again though.

‘Are you sure you’re up for this?’

‘David, it’s just dinner.’

‘No, I mean, Christmas. Our families. My family specifically.’

A smile is slow in forming on Patrick’s face and a hand uncoils from round the hot water bottle to rest against David’s knee. ‘I’m sure.’ 

After dinner, Clint offers to clear the table and David’s eyes drift to Patrick who is struggling to stay awake again. He doesn’t need the prompt from Marcy before he’s cajoling Patrick back upstairs and into bed again. He contemplates crawling into bed beside Patrick, but realises it’s only just gone nine, and he thinks a glass of wine shared with his in-laws may be the soothing evening activity that will help him sleep through Patrick’s coughing for a night, so he makes his way back downstairs.


	4. Chapter 4

‘Morning, David,’ Marcy greets as David enters the kitchen. She’s emptying the dishwasher and putting things away like she lives there.

‘Um, morning, I can, um, do that,’ David says, trying to get his brain to wake up enough to form coherent sentences.

‘No, don’t be silly, I’m happy to help. How’s Patrick feeling?’

‘Let the poor man get some coffee in him before you start quizzing him, Marcy,’ Clint says as he pours David a coffee and sets it down on the kitchen table. David folds himself into one of the chairs.

‘He’s still feeling pretty rough. I don’t think he slept much.’

‘How about you, son? Did you get some sleep?’

He still can’t get used to Clint calling him son, it makes him feel equal parts uncomfortable and loved.

‘Um, some, I guess.’ David doesn’t miss the pointed look Marcy and Clint give each other across the kitchen as David yawns into his mug of coffee. He feels vulnerable. Not only is it just after seven in the morning – a time of day that David doesn’t do well with – he’s expected to be sociable in his own home. Patrick knows him well enough not to ask questions of him for the first hour of the day beyond toast or cereal. He feels out of sorts, and he feels selfish for wishing he had the buffer of his husband in the kitchen right now.

‘Now what can Clint and I do to help you out? I know you boys wanted to make this your Christmas, but with poor Patrick feeling so unwell, I think Clint and I can step in and help, if that’s okay?’

David considers this a moment. He trusts the Brewers far more than he trusts his own sister, and even though Marcy is right, that they did want to host this Christmas themselves, David is honestly grateful for the help at this point. ‘Patrick was going to go and pick up the food for Christmas today. If I gave you the list, would you be okay to um, do that? If that’s okay?’

Marcy beams at him. ‘Of course we can do the food shop for you. More than happy to help.’

Clint sits down at the table with his own cup of coffee. ‘Do you need us to do anything for the party this evening?’

 _Fuck_. David’s brain stops working for a moment. He’s forgotten that they were supposed to be hosting his Dad’s new version of the Rose Christmas Party this evening, in which he was absolutely not doing _The Number_. Thankfully, David has already ordered the food weeks ago, it just needed picking up. Again, something that Patrick had promised to do this morning.

‘The food is already ordered. It just needs picking up from Elmdale this morning.’ David tries not to swear as he fidgets nervously with his wedding ring. ‘Is that okay?’

‘It’s fine, David.’ Marcy puts a hand on his shoulder and squeezes in reassurance. ‘If you send me the email with the confirmation and pick-up instructions we can do that for you.’

David nods, opening his mouth to thank Marcy when Alexis appears in the kitchen, already perfectly coiffed and ready for the day, her head buried in her phone.

‘David, I need your car keys.’

‘Um, why?’

‘To pick up Mom and Dad from the airport,’ Alexis says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. He’s forgotten that he’d said he would pick them up that afternoon while Patrick shut down the store for Christmas.

‘I can drive you, Alexis,’ Clint offers before David has a chance to respond, causing Alexis to look up from her phone.

She wrinkles her nose, smiling at him. ‘Thank you, Mr. Brewer, that would be great. Their flight gets in at two, so I think if we leave here at like half one we can just pick them up in the drop off zone.’

‘Well that’s settled then. We’ve all got our tasks for the day,’ Marcy says, smiling round the kitchen at everyone. David struggles to return the smile.

* * *

David closes the store at four that afternoon, does a perfunctory sweep of the shop and leaves the cashing up in the safe as a present to himself for the morning of the 27th.

He yawns as he pulls into the driveway, parking behind Marcy and Clint’s car and looking up longingly at his and Patrick’s bedroom window where there’s a dim light on. He’s wondering if he can scale the side of the house unseen and crawl into bed next to Patrick and sleep his way through the next forty-eight hours. Or maybe he could nap in the car for an hour.

He’s still staring up at the inviting light of his bedroom window when there’s a sharp rap on the driver’s window, causing him to let out a startled yell. When he looks round, Stevie’s staring in at him with a smirk on her face.

He angrily reaches for the door handle. ‘Not funny!’ he yells as he pushes the door open and emerges from the vehicle.

‘Are you purposely hiding in your car, or?’

‘I just needed a minute.’

‘Not looking forward to the Rose Christmas party?’

‘I know this will make me sound like a crotchety old man, but I just need a nap for like five minutes. Or an hour. Or maybe a full eight hours of uninterrupted sleep.’

‘Now you mention it, the bags under your eyes have bags.’

David puts his hands to his face in alarm, even though he can see Stevie smirking at him.

‘It’s a good job I bought you some slippers and a blanket for your Christmas present this year. I was worried they might be too young for you.’

David glares as he moves round to the boot of the car. ‘Make yourself useful and help me carry these into the house.’

‘How’s Patrick?’ Stevie asks as David places a box of wine into her arms before bending to retrieve his own.

‘Still very much sick. There was a brief moment the other night where I thought he was playing some elaborate joke on me to get out of Christmas and stress me out, but then he coughed so much he almost vomited and pulled all the muscles down his left side.’

Stevie just looks at him as David puts the box down on the ground before locking the car.

‘What? I’m severely sleep deprived and my husband has been known to be an absolute troll on occasion!’

Stevie shakes her head put doesn’t say anything as David pushes his way in through the front door and the both of them are greeted by a wall of noise that’s made up of people chattering, wood shifting on a fire and festive cheer in the form of Chris Rea _Driving Home for Christmas_. He’s always impressed how much noise his family can make.

‘David, my son!’

His father notices him first and envelopes him in a hug the second he’s put his box of wine on the kitchen work surface next to the fridge. Johnny does the same with Stevie as David moves to hug his mother hello.

‘David, why didn’t you tell us that your betrothed was in convalescence?’ Moria’s look portrays one of concern rather than annoyance, which surprises David.

'Um.’

‘I’m sure David didn’t want us to worry,’ Marcy says, and David’s grateful, because he’s fairly certain what he was about to say would have descended into an argument. His eyes flick to Stevie who’s already opening the box of white wine and trying to squeeze as many as she can into the fridge.

‘I’m just going to go get changed and then I’ll come sort out the food for tonight.’

‘Oh, don’t worry, David. We already took care of that for you. Everything is set out ready to go in the other room.’ Johnny Rose slaps David on the back as David sucks his lips into his mouth and nods a couple of times.

‘Okay, well I’m still going to go change.’ He points vaguely towards the stairs, feeling uncomfortable in his own kitchen.

‘I think we’re just about ready to open a bottle of champagne that your mother and I brought before everyone arrives to toast the holidays, so don’t be too long.’

David drags himself upstairs, one excruciating stair at a time. When he reaches the landing, he hears a cork popping in the kitchen and a cheer of a celebration and he feels frustration bubbling up at his annoyance with his family and their festive cheer, when David has nothing to give.

David finds his husband sat on the end of their bed, pulling on a pair of socks and wearing something other than pyjamas for the first time in three days. As much as David is pleased to see Patrick dressed in clothes again, he still looks paler than normal, apart from the flush of colour on his cheeks that hints at the fact he’s still feeling unwell.

When he notices David, however, his eyes burn brighter, and a smile quirks onto his face.

David shuts the bedroom door behind him and crosses to the bed, sitting down beside his husband. He gets an arm around him, pulling him close and pressing a kiss to the side of his head. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘Okay. Better.’

David frowns. ‘Okay, I’m going to ask you how you are again and this time I would like you to answer me honestly.’

It takes a moment before Patrick’s hand comes up to rub at the centre of his chest, as if trying to iron out a crease beneath his jumper and t-shirt. ‘My chest hurts, everything aches and I feel like I could go back to sleep, even though I’ve just had a nap.’

David frowns a second time in sympathy, rubbing Patrick’s back. ‘Okay, well you know that this thing this evening isn’t mandatory.’

‘David, it’s in our house, I feel like I should at least show my face.’ Despite the protestations of Patrick’s words, he leans further into the side of David, his head dipping to use David’s shoulder as a pillow. David rests his own head against Patrick’s, where he would personally be more than happy to spend the rest of the evening. A jaw cracking yawn catches him by surprise, causing Patrick to huff out a laugh that is barely there.

‘Are _you_ okay to attend this party this evening?’

‘Mmm, I would not be averse to a nap right now, but I’m slightly concerned about leaving our parents alone together for any length of time.’

‘David, they’ve been alone together for most of the afternoon while I was napping.’

David nods. ‘Yes, but now Stevie is down there.’

There’s a pause, where Patrick considers this new piece of information. ‘Yeah, okay, we should move.’

* * *

Stevie’s attention is drawn to the ajar door of Patrick and David’s bedroom on her way to the bathroom a couple of hours later. The light is on inside and she can see Patrick curled up on top of the covers where he’s clearly flopped, fully dressed. She looks back down the stairs to make sure no one is going to intrude before pushing open the door and stepping into the room. Patrick doesn’t stir, his head nestled into the throw pillows and eyes closed. There are bags under his eyes, and he’s breathing wheezily through his mouth. He’s managed to slide his feet under the throw at the bottom of the bed, but has made no other attempt at getting under the covers. It’s clear to her he’d only planned on lying down for five minutes away from everyone downstairs, and ended up asleep. Stevie smiles fondly as she pulls the throw from the bottom of the bed up over Patrick before shutting the bedroom door behind her.

She wanders into the kitchen to retrieve another glass of wine for herself when she makes it back downstairs, only to be joined by David a moment later, looking almost as exhausted as Patrick.

‘Have you seen Patrick?’

‘He’s taking five mins in your room.’

‘Is he okay?’ David asks, trying to hide a yawn.

Stevie smirks. ‘I’d maybe go check on him.’

David looks worried for a moment, before handing Stevie his glass of wine and slipping out of the room past Jocelyn. When he enters the bedroom, his look of worry changes to a look of fondness to see his husband resting beneath the throw from the end of the bed. The way it lies across him, it’s clear Stevie has covered him up. He loves his best friend a little bit more in that moment, realising she’d somehow managed to orchestrate a nap for the two of them.

David toes off his shoes and lies down in the bed next to Patrick, thinking that they won’t miss him downstairs if he just rested for a few minutes. He lies on his side so he’s facing Patrick, who’s now blinking owlishly at him, clearly not deeply asleep enough that the shifting of the mattress has woken him.

‘What time is it?’

‘Nap time,’ David says in all seriousness. There’s the sound of laughter coming from downstairs, floorboards creaking outside the bedroom door as someone makes their way to the bathroom.

‘I just needed five minutes,’ Patrick admits, somewhat self-consciously, but making absolutely no move to leave the confines of their bed.

‘Well now I need five minutes, and I think you need to keep me company.’ As if to emphasis his point, David’s hand curls round Patrick’s that’s resting on the pillow.

‘Okay,’ Patrick agrees, eyes closing again as he coughs weakly.

David doesn’t know how long they lie on the bed, drifting somewhere between asleep and awake. The next thing David’s aware of he’s being startled awake by a knock on the door and Stevie’s head appearing around the frame, looking apologetic.

‘Um, I just thought you should both know that Roland Jnr just spilled juice all over that fancy throw on your armchair and I can’t understand the washing instructions because they’re in French.’

‘Oh my God,’ David says, reluctantly pulling himself from the bed and reaching to put his shoes back on.

* * *

David’s standing on the periphery of the living room having just seen another wave of well-wishers out the front door. Nearly all the food is gone, there’s limited wine left, and the only people who aren’t staying in his house that appear to be left is Ray, Stevie, the Schitts and a handful of the Jazzagals. Ray still appears to be grazing at the buffet with Roland, while Roland Jnr sleeps in his father’s arms. Jocelyn, Moria and Marcy have been in conversation in the kitchen for most of the evening, while David had left Stevie and Alexis by the firepit to say goodnight to the majority of the town in a vague attempt to be a good host. He glances at the clock on the bookcase as Marcy comes back in the room, patting David on the arm.

‘Why don’t you boys head on up to bed?’ Marcy suggests, motioning to the armchair in the room where Patrick had ensconced himself an hour ago, deciding it was less exhausting if people came to him. Now, however, he’s struggling to keep his eyes open as Johnny Rose talks at him about who knows what, his head resting against the wing of the armchair.

‘Dad?’

‘Hey, son, I was just telling Patrick here about the hot-tubs that we’ve just finished installing in some of the new motels we acquired last month.’

‘Hmm-mmm, I’m sure that conversation is _very_ fascinating, but Patrick’s too polite and exhausted to say that he needs to go back to bed before he keels over.’

Johnny looks concerned that he’s done something wrong by keeping Patrick up. ‘Oh, well, yes, of course. You should go, because you’re still not feeling well.’

‘Sorry, Mr. Rose,’ Patrick mumbles as David helps him to his feet and steers him out of the room, trying not to draw any attention to them. David knows that the minute they announce that Patrick is going to bed, they’d be stuck in an endless loop of well wishes.

They manage to make it to their bedroom without running into anyone and Patrick immediately sits down on the end of the bed, looking completely done in.

‘People are exhausting.’

‘Says the social extravert.’ David opens their chest of drawers and pulls out a pair of pyjamas for Patrick and himself.

‘Maybe I should have said goodnight to everyone.’

‘Do you really want to go back down there and get stuck in conversations with half the town as you try to say goodnight to them?’

‘It would be polite.’

David sighs and moves in front of Patrick, dropping his hands onto his husband’s shoulders. ‘Okay, we’re not being polite tonight. We’re taking a selfish and we’re putting you in some pyjamas and going to bed.’

‘That sounds like a good idea,’ Patrick mumbles round a yawn, that turns into a cough.

David feels slightly odd to be getting ready for bed when he can still hear people moving about in his own house downstairs. He trusts that his parents and Patrick’s parents will see the rest of the town out, but it doesn’t feel any less weird, especially when he hears Ray’s voice float past his bedroom door. He freezes for a moment, mid-throwing Patrick and his socks in the laundry hamper, scared that Ray is going to burst into the room and they’re going to have a conversation about knocking again. A moment later David hears the bathroom door go and lets out a long breath in relief.

David turns back to the bed to find Patrick in his pyjamas, still sat on the end of the bed with his eyes closed.

‘Can I suggest it might be easier to sleep under the covers and lying down?’ David suggests, kissing Patrick on the forehead before going into the en-suite to carry out his skincare routine.

When David comes back into the room, Patrick is already fast asleep. David checks he’s taken his antibiotics, before crawling into his own side of the bed. His phone pings as he’s turning out the light. Stevie.

_Sorry for keeping you up past your bedtime._


End file.
